The Judas Seat

By Katherine Pritchett

When a South Korean defector takes the reins of North Korea, the world teeters on the edge of a nuclear abyss. The only man all parties will agree to lead the negotiations is the man who doesn't want the job-former American diplomat Richard Matthews. And someone at the table wants the negotiations to fail. Can Richard unmask the Judas in time? In this sequel to More Than a Point of Honor, Richard Matthews faces new opponents-and some familiar ones.

• Language: Unknown
• Publisher: The Wild Rose Press
• Release date: May 10, 2023
• ISBN: 9781509246861

Katherine Pritchett

I vividly remember when I first considered writing. I was less than five years old, galloping about our yard at the farm, probably pretending to lead a cavalry charge or round up a stampede. On one of the few smooth limestone slabs that made up our sidewalk, I paused and turned to face the east, where the yard sloped down into a grove of evergreens that led to our garden and the highway. I focused on something far beyond the highway, even past the hay meadow and the locust-forested pasture. “Maybe I should write books,” I thought. “Someone has to.” I pondered this momentous choice for a while. Then I decided that it would be more logical for people who could read to write books, and galloped off again. Like many people, I began writing in my teens. Unlike others, though, the stories within would not allow me to stop. Ideas clamor “Pick me, pick me!” to be let out of the files and into a completed story. A thirty-year career in state government has afforded me insight into the layers of motivation that keep the world turning—and authors writing about it.

Book preview

Prologue

Beijing, China, four years ago…

From the Starlight Restaurant revolving atop the Beijing International Hotel, Chung Hee Yu gazed out over the twinkling lights of Beijing. He sipped at his freshly brewed cup of white tea, delighting in the delicate flavor of the tea, as the city appeared to swirl around him. He smiled as the waiter picked up his plate. Even in his indulgences, he exercised restraint. For the last dinner he would enjoy as a free man, he had chosen a finely-marbled Wagyu steak, but only a five-ounce, medium, with steamed vegetables. Not a huge steak, no calamari, not even American fried chicken, although it was on the menu. Instead of champagne or priceless wine, he had this tea, with a single sprig of fresh mint, slightly bruised to release its flavor and aroma.

Dessert, sir? The waiter appeared quietly at his elbow.

No, thank you. He shook his head. Perhaps another cup of this excellent tea in a few minutes, if you please.

Of course, sir. Bowing, the waiter backed away.

Chung Hee watched a commotion two tables away as waiters seated a large group. He recognized the tall man, as noticeable as a giraffe among gazelles, even in this international venue, among the Chinese men being seated. Unfortunately, the man also recognized him and strode toward his table.

Minister Yu. The man thrust out his hand.

Chung Hee rose and accepted the hand. Mr. Lowe. How pleasant to see you. Lowe had spent the last month in Seoul negotiating partnerships with Korean auto manufacturers.

Would you care to join my group, Mr. Yu? He waved toward the table where his party was settling in. He grinned. I’m wining and dining the Chinese auto gurus. Might get Kia some competition in the States.

I wish you luck, Mr. Lowe. But I’ll decline your invitation. He glanced out the window again. I’ve finished my dinner and am just sitting here relaxing and enjoying the view.

Lowe grinned and winked. If you change your mind, come on over. Might make the Chinese more anxious to make concessions if they see a South Korean cabinet minister at the table.

Chung Hee smiled. I wouldn’t want to offend my most excellent colleagues, Mr. Lowe. He sat back down. Besides, I’m simply on a personal retreat, not on official state business.

Well, it’s a pleasure to see you again, Minister Yu. Lowe sauntered back to his table, and Chung Hee returned to his tea. It had cooled more than he would like, but he drank anyway. Hot tea, lukewarm tea, cold tea. Soon it wouldn’t matter. He tried to see above the city lights and the smog they had tried hard to control before the Olympics to find the stars, and failed. He satisfied himself instead with the panoramic view of Beijing for what might be the last time.

The waiter reappeared with a second cup of tea. Thank you. Chung Hee nodded his thanks. He lingered over the tea, thinking back over his life to this point. During his lifetime, South Korea had become a full participant in the global economy, manufacturing and consuming at alarming rates, and he had allowed himself to be seduced by shiny baubles. The excesses available to those in government service had distracted him from his core goal of leaving the world, and particularly his country, a better place than when he entered it. What he was about to do should further that goal in a single bold move. He finished his tea, left payment for his bill and a generous tip, and then headed for his room.

There he filled a small backpack with the things he would need for his trip. At last, he surveyed the deluxe hotel room one more time. It was a fine hotel, five-stars, utilized primarily for visiting dignitaries and the ever-growing numbers of wealthy tourists. He had visited it many times in the past fifteen years, first as a junior aide to South Korean cabinet ministers, then as Cabinet Minister for Unification himself. But this was a personal trip. He breathed deeply the fragrance of the white roses management had sent to his room, as he realized he would probably soon miss the many luxuries to which he had grown accustomed. Although he sometimes slept on the floor in such rooms, just to keep himself from growing soft, last night he had luxuriated in the king-sized bed.

As he reached for the door of the room, a thrill of fear ran through him; his motives might be misunderstood; he might never get the chance to explain himself; his efforts might end abruptly in failure and death. He accepted the fear as an attack from the enemy—proof his course of action was the right one. With a sigh, he closed the door behind him and walked quietly toward the elevator. Once at the expansive lobby, his rubber-soled shoes made no sound on the marble floor as he walked toward the door to the street without looking at anyone. No one would notice this behavior as anything unusual; in fact, to behave otherwise would arouse suspicion.

Thus unnoticed, he slipped into the evening streets and made his way toward the train station. The crowds he encountered, he realized, were not there when he first accompanied the Cabinet to Beijing fifteen years ago, but China had made many adaptations to bolster its economy, and therefore change the lives of its people, in recent years. At the station, he bought a round trip ticket to Sunchon, North Korea, showing a Chinese passport he had obtained months ago along with the proper travel papers indicating he was on his way to purchase rice for an importer.

He boarded the train, making his way toward the hard or cheap seats. Though padded and upholstered, the seat would feel very hard indeed on his long journey. He settled in and opened the newspaper he had purchased on his trip across the city. He kept his small pack, holding only three shirts, a second pair of trousers, and three sets of underwear and socks, on his lap. The light jacket he wore, he knew, would not be adequate for long when he arrived at his destination.

The train jerked several times as each car submitted to the pull of the engines. Slowly the momentum smoothed and picked up speed. The car rocked him to sleep somewhere along the dark journey north and east into the countryside. Thin morning sunlight nudged him awake as the train began to slow. Ahead, around a slight bend in the track, he could see the bridge across the Yalu, with Antung, China, on this side and Sinuiju, North Korea, on the other. Although his stomach tightened, he forced his demeanor to remain calm.

The train stopped to allow the North Korean border guards to enter. Thin, young, and stern-faced, they scrutinized the passengers as if they expected each to be a notorious international criminal. He supposed they would receive a medal and parade for shooting one. He blinked and placed his Chinese passport and papers in hand. The guards passed him by with just a cursory glance at the documents. Thanking God for his part-Chinese North Korean grandmother, he stared out the window at the brown early winter landscape while they completed their review of the car. Finally, the train began to move again. Another thirty minutes and the train stopped at Sunchon, North Korea.

Standing up, unobtrusively stretching stiff muscles, he put the Chinese papers in the backpack, and drew his real passport from his jacket. He stepped off the train under the watchful eye of still more soldiers. Without looking at them, he entered the station and found the office of the station master.

May I help you? A thin young woman looked up from her desk.

Yes, please, he answered quietly. I have a matter I would like to discuss with the station master.

What is the nature of your business? she barked.

Please, just give him this. He handed her his passport. I think then he will see me.

She opened the passport, poised to dismiss him and hand it back, but instead spun around for her boss’s office. Seconds later, she returned. He will see you now.

Thank you. He had barely entered the office, the door still closing, when he heard her pick up the phone and request soldiers. He stepped toward the desk, where the station master glanced from his passport to his face and back to the passport.

You are Chung Hee Yu, South Korean cabinet minister?

I am.

Why are you here?

Chung Hee met the man’s gaze. I wish to defect.

Chapter 1

Nassau, the Bahamas, present day…

The plane rose as if fighting to stay in the air when the pilot lowered the flaps on the approach to International Airport, New Providence Island, Bahamas. Terra McIntyre Matthews sympathized with the plane. Taking off was bad enough, but landings forced her to maintain taut control of her fear. Despite her resolve, her fingers clenched the arm of the seat, and she let out the breath she had been holding. She tried to appreciate the azure water spreading big around the tiny island, but instead let out another breath.

A voice rumbled low in her ear. You could have had the aisle seat, you know.

She thrust out her chin. I’d rather see what’s coming at me. She turned away from the window, and love for her husband smothered the fear. She tried to soak up every angle of his countenance, the way the light in his brown eyes warmed her to her toes, his broad shoulder brushing against hers. She felt the unfamiliar pressure of the wedding ring as he squeezed her little hand in his long one. But you already know it. She leaned into his shoulder. I love you, Richard.

He nuzzled her hair. It still felt strange to wear it short, after having it long for most of her life, but the surgeons had to cut off so much, it seemed the only logical choice. Not nervous about meeting my parents, are you?

I’d be crazy not to be nervous, wouldn’t I? Her stomach hurt from tension as the wheels touched down. After all, their son was working in Washington, DC, grieving his beloved wife, then out of the blue he calls them to say he’s remarried. Her knees shook. I’m a nobody, and you’re the son of a U.S. ambassador.

Retired ambassador. He tugged her hand, forcing her to meet his gaze. And you are definitely NOT a nobody. He kissed her forehead. You are somebody very special.

She felt tension drain from her, replaced by confidence flowing from him to her. Still, they have to wonder about me. I mean, I’m younger. She sighed. I doubt I’m what your mother had in mind for your wife.

My mother didn’t choose you to be my wife. He cupped her chin in his hand. I did. He kissed her. Besides, Mum will come to love you once she gets to know you. He gathered their bags from under their seats. Dad will be a lot easier. Just listen to some of his golfing stories and ask his advice on your swing.

She swallowed hard, forcing her fears down to the pit of her stomach. Richard’s first wife, Elaine, had been the Boston-born daughter of his mother’s best friend. That Elaine had been tall, blonde, classically beautiful, Terra knew from the photos she had seen in Richard’s apartment. That she had been a gifted teacher and devoted wife, she learned from Richard’s stories. That she had died in the same terrorist attack that nearly killed her husband brought Richard’s and Terra’s lives together. The plane bumped once before settling to the ground, and Terra gasped.

Terra held his hand tight against the fear, greater than her fear of flying, sweeping over her again as the doors to the plane opened. I hope you’re right. She knew she would regard herself with suspicion if she were Richard’s mother.

Then the bustle of disembarking carried them like flotsam toward the shore of the terminal. The heat rising from the tarmac engulfed them the instant they stepped onto the ramp out of the plane. She glanced at the sapphire sky, where gulls called as they circled. Colors intensified, as if she had suddenly stepped from a black and white movie into full Technicolor. Then she looked toward the terminal. Palms surrounding it bent in the steady breeze dissipating the heat. A sweet floral scent wafted to her, mixed with a smell she guessed was surf. A brightly colored crowd surged out of the terminal toward the plane. She scanned the group, wondering which couple would step forward to judge her fitness to be his mate. Richard stopped and opened his arms wide.

Terra tried to hang back as a couple she recognized from the photos in Richard’s apartment rushed toward him, but he drew her to his side, making his parents embrace her to embrace him. Up close, their faces blurred, but as they stepped back, they assumed the careful expressions of career diplomats. The seconds they studied her seemed like hours to Terra.

Paul Matthews spoke first. So, this is our new daughter. As his brown eyes sparkled and his lean face creased in a broad smile, Terra glimpsed the source of the charm that had drawn her to Richard. Richard not only looked like his father, tall and distinguished, although on Paul the dark hair had faded to silver, but acted much like him. Paul took her hands. Richard didn’t do you justice when he described you to us, my dear. He pulled her into a hug. Welcome to our family, Terra.

He was so gracious she nearly cried. Thank you, Mr. Matthews. Before she could say more, she felt Caroline Matthews’ hand rest briefly on her arm.

Yes, dear, Caroline said, her voice as cool as her hand had been. Welcome. Sunglasses shielded her eyes, and her lips appeared set in a resolutely neutral line, as the breeze teased her curly salt and pepper hair.

Terra’s stomach tightened again, as she realized Caroline’s assessment was not finished.

Did you read the news today, son? Paul spoke as he walked toward the baggage pickup. Richard fell into step beside him, perhaps an inch taller than his father.

You mean about Kim Jong Un? Richard glanced back toward Caroline and Terra following in silence. Terra nodded as she recognized the name of the North Korean president who had died yesterday. We saw it on CNN at Dulles while we waited for the plane.

Then, Paul hesitated. You don’t know about Chung Hee Yu?

Richard stopped. What about him? His voice had taken an edge. Terra moved closer to him.

Paul halted as well. He’s been named acting President of the Presidium as well as Secretary General of the Korean Worker’s Party in Kim’s place.

Damn. Richard shook his head. Should complicate things.

There’s more. Paul watched Richard. It seems South Korea and China are very alarmed the nuclear threat might escalate.

Terra read a mix of emotions in Richard’s eyes—anger, fear, sorrow—she wasn’t sure what his actions told her. Who is Chung Hee Yu? Although she knew Richard had served as an American diplomat for over a decade, Terra hadn’t learned many details beyond the fact he was transferred from Korea to the post in Zimbabwe, where tragedy had changed the course of his life.

When I knew him, he was South Korean. We were both part of a graduate fellowship study at Oxford. Our group was to study economic interdependence among Far Eastern nations and the European Commonwealth. He shook his head again. We became good friends and developed some solid theories.

Why did he switch to the North?

Richard started walking. I don’t know. She realized the story was deep, and she would have to pry for it. He smiled as if he read her thoughts. It’s a long story, but I promise I’ll tell you the whole tale—after we pick up our luggage and get settled in.

You’re staying with us, aren’t you? Terra could hear the strain in Caroline’s voice.

Of course, Mum. Richard threw his arm around his mother. Then you can monitor if I’m eating right and taking my vitamins.

Oh, Richard, she protested, but smiled. I’m supposed to worry. It’s in a mother’s contract.

He laughed. And I appreciate the wonderful job you do of it. He offered one arm to his mother and the other to his wife.

Fine son you are, Paul grumbled. Take the lovely ladies and leave me to gather the luggage.

Chapter 2

Richard chuckled as Terra bustled about trying to hang up her clothing only to have Janie, his mother’s maid, take it from her. He knew the routine and had simply tossed the things he preferred untouched in a drawer and left the rest to Janie, but Terra wanted to do things herself. It’s okay, Terra. His bag sat unzipped on the floor. Janie takes great pride in making guests feel they have nothing to do but enjoy themselves. He walked toward his wife, patting Janie on the shoulder as he passed her. It’s good to see you again, Janie.

The same here, Master Richard. Smiling, Janie hung up Terra’s silk blouse. You look good; marriage agrees with you.

Thank you, Janie. He took Terra’s hand. I certainly agree with marriage. He led her toward the French doors opening to a balcony. Let’s go for a walk along the beach. The balcony ran the length of the house and from it a stairway led down to the garden.

Richard, I just can’t get used to people doing things for me because they’re paid to do it, Terra protested as she followed him into the garden.

Richard slipped his arm around her shoulders, savoring how good she felt to him, the solid presence of her in his life, when once he had feared having only memories to hold. You’ve been doing it all your life, Terra, only you just didn’t think of it that way.

Explain yourself, dear. Her voice had already relaxed. He could hear the smile in it.

When you paid someone to change the oil in your car—

I did it myself.

When you paid someone to do your taxes—

Did it myself.

He sighed. All right. When you paid the airline to fly you to DC— He stopped to look at her.

No, I didn’t fly myself.

When you bought your ticket, you were paying someone to do things for you because they were paid to do those jobs, and they had the training or the gift for it. Janie likes her work, and because we respect the work she does, we get along fine.

So, then, tell me about Chung Hee Yu.

He laughed. I knew you wouldn’t let it go for long.

You’re stalling.

You win, as usual. He took a deep breath, gathering his memories and trying to separate assumptions from facts. It was a long time ago, just after Elaine and I were married. I was about to be posted to South Korea, but this fellowship came up and the State Department thought, since there were a few bright, young South Korean politicos involved, it might be beneficial for me to participate. Chung Hee and I became friends fairly quickly. He had a lot of questions about western life, religion in particular. Although South Korea has the largest Christian church in the world, Chung Hee had been raised Buddhist.

The memory of a bright October afternoon came back to him. Chung Hee had been deep into religious philosophy that afternoon as they walked, practicing each other’s languages. By accident, it seemed, they wandered toward the chapel. As they approached it, Chung Hee moved as if drawn by a magnet. Richard followed him inside, as much from his own curiosity as by the question of why such a shining intellect should be attracted to such a place, ancient and musty by Richard’s standards, but new and untried to one of Chung Hee’s faith. Inside, Chung Hee stood as if absorbing the whole aura of the chapel, from the stained light in which danced the dust motes of centuries, to the austere altar, with its simple wood cross. Richard’s own cynicism quailed before the faith that held up the stone and polished the pews. When Chung Hee knelt before the altar, Richard knelt beside him without question.

What does it all mean? Chung Hee asked, raising his gaze to the cross.

It means— Richard faltered, unsure of his answer.

It means what you believe it means. A voice echoed off the stone walls. A priest walked toward them. How can I help you today, lads?

Chung Hee scrambled to his feet, bowing as he approached the priest. Teach me, father, he asked humbly. I want to know more. Chung Hee had disappeared with the priest into his study, while Richard returned to the dorm, realizing he had witnessed something quite profound, but unsure of its meaning.

He came out of the depths of his memory. Three weeks later, Chung Hee asked me to be present at his baptism. His conversion to Christianity made me question, and I began to understand more about my own faith through him.

Richard fell silent and Terra simply held his hand as they walked. Through the garden gate and a few more steps, the foliage gave way to the fine white sand beach Richard treasured. He glanced toward the end of it, where it curved out of sight. Heat waves shimmered off the sand near the curve, and for an instant, he saw Elaine in the distance, running toward him, her golden hair billowing behind her. He blinked back the sudden tears, and she was gone.

Terra’s soft hand touched his shoulder. You used to come here with Elaine?

He nodded and pulled her close to him, her heart beating reassuringly next to his. Instead of a dead wife in the distance, he now had a living wife beside him. Yet Terra had almost paid the same price as Elaine. He spun her so they could view the ocean together, his arms still wrapped around her waist. I came here, too, after she died, to sit on the beach and watch the tides. I thought about just walking out into the waves and never stopping.

She leaned back against him. But something kept you anchored to dry land?

He nodded, and her hands closed over his. They stood in silence while the waves rolled over the sand. Just as he began to feel relaxed by the rhythm of the surf, Terra spoke. Why did he switch sides?

Why, Richard sighed. I have never figured out.

Chapter 3

After the blinding heat of the sun reflecting off the bright sand and verdant turf, the limestone-floored veranda with the fans swirling lazily in the high ceiling above them felt soothingly cool. At least a dozen different colors of orchids nodded around the edges of the veranda like friendly butterflies. The muted noises filtering through the lacy walls of night-blooming jasmine took Terra back to childhood summer afternoons in Oklahoma—lawn mowers, hedge trimmers, women’s low voices, children’s laughter. Except in Box Elder, Terra had never heard seagulls and surf in the mix. So, dear, Caroline Matthews passed a plate to Terra. How did you and Richard meet?

Well, I was working for him, Terra began. She busied herself selecting fruit. How much did Richard want her to tell them? Did they know about the feud with Adler that brought them together? Tea on the veranda might not prove very relaxing.

You remember, Mum. I told you when Terra first started working for me. Richard reached for the teapot. More tea?

Yes, dear. Caroline held her cup for him to fill. I remember you telling us you had a new assistant. Then you called to say you had gotten married. She smiled at Richard. I’m just trying to fill in the gaps.

Richard sighed. Okay, I forget you weren’t there for the whole thing. He picked up his own cup to take a sip of tea. Terra guessed he was stalling, trying to decide how much of the story to share. His gaze strayed to the newspaper, where he had been reading about the latest developments on Chung Hee’s presidency, as he and his father discussed the ramifications of a Christian at the helm of a county still persecuting them, of a South Korean leading North Korea. Suddenly he slammed his cup down so hard it shattered, sending a flood of hot tea over the table. Son of a bitch! He shoved back his chair and spun away from the table. Caroline jumped up to follow him.

Terra noted the thin, straight set of his lips. Folding her napkin as a dam against the tea, she picked up the damp paper to read what incensed him. She scanned the article about Chung Hee, but saw nothing they hadn’t already heard on the news or surmised in discussion. She found what triggered his outburst in a short article halfway down the third column. She raised her head. Adler’s been released? she choked out.

He looked back at her, his voice taut. National security reasons, isn’t it what it says? Paul reached for the paper.

Terra went to Richard. She felt a tremor in the arm he slipped around her. I’m sorry, Terra. He kissed her hair. I thought it was over.

Caroline stepped back toward her husband. Finished with the meager article, Paul looked up toward his son. The Robert Adler of the CIA who was involved with the attack in Zimbabwe? Terra still wrapped in his arms, Richard nodded. Paul dropped the paper and folded his arms across his chest. Do you want to tell us the whole story now?

Taking Terra’s hand, Richard came back to the table. His mother sat, and Janie placed a fresh cup of tea in front of him. He took a long drink and sighed deeply before beginning. He reached out once more for Terra’s hand. Adler sent Terra to work for me, without telling her the story, but of course, I saw through his ruse. He sighed, running his free hand over his eyes, as if going back into the memories was painful. Caroline sat silent, her blue-gray eyes studying first Richard and then Terra. Still, I decided maybe through Terra I could find out what he was up to, and then she proved to be so gifted at editing, I wanted to keep her on for her sake. He looked deep into Terra’s eyes. Sounds pretty selfish now, telling it like this, doesn’t it?

She put her hand over his. Not if you were there, Richard.

He glanced at his father. I was getting close to three witnesses who would incriminate him, swear he used Elaine and me as bait to draw in the terrorists. He had one witness killed, and intimidated another one out of talking to me, and it was coming down to just one last chance. He paused, and Terra squeezed his hand. I think Adler hoped I would come to care for Terra, and though I tried not to, I did. He stopped to raise her hand to his lips. He stared into her eyes for a long time.

Caroline cleared her throat, and Paul shot a look at his wife. Then Adler put Terra in jeopardy, hoping I’d give up the chase to protect her. I tried to make him believe I would, but I couldn’t. He dropped his head. I lived for revenge too long; I couldn’t let it go. He sighed. I didn’t realize until it was almost too late that living people, going forward into the future, was more important than revenge. He reached up to caress Terra’s face, still not looking at her. My drive for revenge almost cost Terra her life. At last, he raised his head to her and stroked her curls. And is why you’re seeing her with short hair and not the long, glorious hair she had when I nearly got her killed.

He sighed. And then I found out other people were on to Adler for more than just Elaine’s death; he would have been put away anyway. FBI and Interpol were watching him, and letting me be a distraction to him while they made their case. He took a deep breath. And if I hadn’t stampeded him into taking rash action, he might still be in jail.

Terra reached up to touch his cheek. You had no way of knowing it at the time. She squeezed his hand. You did more than anyone else to put him away.

He squeezed her hand back. Than anyone else but you. He nearly killed you.

Paul spoke up. Adler himself attempted to kill Terra?

Yes, he tried to blow her head off. Richard focused on his father. If she hadn’t moved to get away from him, she’d be dead. As it is, the bullet grazed her skull and burst her eardrum. He tried to smile. So, if she doesn’t hear all your stories, be gentle.

Paul ignored the humor. If he committed an assault with intent to kill, they could hold him on it, never mind the national security charges. He leaned back in his chair. I smell a rat.

Any time Adler’s involved you can smell a rat. Terra’s eyes flashed. He has always made my skin crawl.

Richard did smile then. Terra gave him quite a bit of grief herself. He kissed her hand again. And saved my life once. He stared deep into her eyes. Or maybe more than once.

How are you feeling now, my dear? Caroline’s voice had softened from the tone she had used toward Terra until then.

Terra glanced at her mother-in-law. Unshed tears glistened in her eyes. "I’m feeling pretty good now. A headache once in a while, still